The Wrath of Altaïr
by ServantOfSithis
Summary: Alrighty, sorry for being away for so long. With Assassin's Creed 2 coming out next month, I'm sure I'll think of something after I've played the game to hell and back.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I did not invent Assassin's Creed or the character Altaïr

Author's Note: I did not invent Assassin's Creed or the character Altaïr. This is just a story about a minor bad day of Altaïr's. Imagine trying to reach an assassination target in the game but you keep getting messed up by all the lesser citizens (drunks, beggars, and madmen to be exact).

The Wrath of Altaïr

A man walked around and around in a dark alleyway, rambling loudly to himself, but his speech was so slurred that even he himself couldn't understand it. Without seeming to have a destination, he continued wandering through the dingy, dirty alleyway until he tripped over his long, filthy cape and fell flat on his face. His bald head struck the ground hard, but he saw no stars, as his vision was already blurred from all the drink.

He quickly scrambled back up, but tripped on his cape again, and again, down he went. Swearing loudly, he tried again with the same result. Several more times he tried this, each ending with his face flat on the ground. Finally, he stood up, wobbled a bit, and caught his balance. Not four seconds after he had accomplished this, a heavily armed man in a white robe and hood sped through the alleyway, sacking the drunk and knocking him down yet again.

Seven soldiers, swords drawn, followed the white robed man, one of which stepped on the poor drunk's arm. When they had passed, the man scrambled back to his feet in a rage. Using the alley wall as support, he stood, fuming and spitting out swear words that would make even the most seasoned sailor cringe.

Nearly twenty minutes he stood there, until he heard footsteps to his left. Turning to look, he saw the armed white robed and hooded man limping down the alleyway, clutching his right forearm, which appeared to have a large gash in it. He passed the drunk and made his way to a set of nearby stairs.

The drunk shoved with all his might, and down the stairs went the white robed man. He rolled out into the street, and knocked over two passing town guards. Shouting about infidels, they both drew their swords and attacked. After receiving a gash on his left arm to match the one on his right, the white robed man quickly dispatched the two guards and walked back up the stairs, a murderous look in his eyes.

He grabbed the drunk by his filthy shirt's collar with both hands, and threw him against the alley wall. He then lifted the man by his shirt collar once again and threw him against the other wall. For several minutes, he continued this, slamming the drunk against this wall, then that. Finally, he lifted the whimpering drunk by the neck, and threw him down the same set of stairs he had just come up.

He heard several satisfying snaps and cracks before the body finally came to a rest in the middle of the street. He stood there panting for a moment or two before hearing more screams and shouts about infidels. The man swore under his breath and took off back down the alleyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Altaïr ran down the alleyway. Having no idea how many town guards pursued him, he decided against turning and fighting. Instead, he jumped, grabbed a window ledge, and scaled the wall onto the rooftops. From this point, he could hear the guards in the alley below. Good thing he didn't try to stand and fight, there were a lot of them. From the way they were talking, it sounded like they had no idea where he was.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Altaïr walked to the other side of the building and, making sure he was unnoticed, dropped twenty or so feet onto the main road. Several citizens yelled in surprise while others called him a fool, but he didn't care, and thankfully there were no guards or soldiers in the vicinity.

He quickly got up and dusted himself off. Attempting to blend in and not draw anymore unwanted attention to himself, he bowed his head, folded his hands, and pretended to be praying like one of the many religious scholars who dressed very similarly to he, with white robes and hoods. He began moving along with the crowd, walking slowly.

But just as he thought he was out of trouble, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Knowing what it was, he ignored it, but the beggar would not be turned away.

"Please, sir, do ya have any money?" Came an old woman's voice. Altaïr continued to ignore her, quickening his pace. The beggar jogged to catch up and stepped in front of him.

"Please, ya must have something. I'm poor and sick and hungry!" Beginning to get frustrated, Altaïr pushed her out of the way, and quickened his pace more. Still jogging to keep up, the old woman continued to harass him.

"No, you don't understand. I have nothing! Please!" Altaïr had had it. He quickly cut to his right and began to scale a tower in an attempt to get away from the old woman, but she still would not be dissuaded. The beggar picked up a stone off the ground and threw it at Altaïr, striking him in the shoulder. Startled, he plummeted ten feet to the ground. Once more, he stood up and dusted himself off, staring at the beggar, again, with a murderous look in his eyes.

He sprinted towards the old woman, and before she had time to react, grabbed her by the neck, lifted her off her feet, and threw her into a fruit stand, which collapsed.

"Help! He's trying to kill me!" She screamed as she got up and tried to run. Altaïr sprinted after her and tackled her, slamming her into the ground and landed on top of her. She lay on her front with her face in the dirt. He lifted her head and slammed her face into the ground.

He rolled her over and sat on her stomach. She started screaming as he proceeded to punch her in her old, wrinkled face. Breaking teeth, bruising eye sockets, shattering cheek bones, Altaïr continued this until she screamed and struggled no more. Getting up, he delivered a final kick to her head, breaking her neck. Only then did he notice the crowd of shocked onlookers staring at him.

"BOO!" Altaïr shouted, and screams of fear erupted in every direction as the mob began to flee. Searching for a gap in the chaos through which he could flee, Altaïr spotted three guards, swords drawn, staring at him.

"INFIDELLLLLLLLLLL!" They all shouted in unison.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Altaïr had escaped that fiasco, he was beginning to get tired and very annoyed with the lesser citizens of this city, and all he wanted to do was return to his safe haven to rest before he set out again. He didn't even have the energy to jump from rooft o roof as he normally did. Instead, he casually strolled the streets.

He turned a corner and saw a deserted street. No wonder it was deserted; the hospital was on this street. No one liked to go near this place as the screams and moaning of the patients inside disturbed most people greatly, but they did not bother Altaïr, and he decided to take the shortcut.

Halfway down the street, Altaïr heard yelling.

"NO! NO! Guards, help! Breakout! Escape! Somebody!" The yelling doctor burst through the hospital door out onto the street and attempted to hold it closed, but the mass of madmen easily broke down the door and trampled him. Once out on the street, they all just wandered around like mindless zombies. All of them were drooling a great amount. Some held their ears, yelling. Others madly twitched their arms and hands, and the rest held their faces in their hands, screaming as though terrified by what they saw.

Altaïr thought for a moment, then decided he would just go around them. He went to the side of the street, near the edge of the swarm. Moving slowly, he tried not to startle them. It was when he was almost past that one of the twitchers threw a punch which connected with Altaïr's nose. Dazed, he moved his hand to his face and realized his nose was bleeding.

Something in Altaïr snapped. He punched the patient as hard as he could in the nose. The man stumbled backward, clutching his nose and screaming. Altaïr drew his long sword, lopped off both the man's arms, and then lifted him off his feet by the throat. The man thrashed with his legs furiously, but this was a kill that Altaïr was going to savor. He carried the man to the side of the street, and tossed him over the edge into the water below.

He then turned his gaze on the rest of the crowd and a red haze fell over his vision. Altaïr charged in like a blood crazed tiger, swinging his blade this way and that, severing limbs and heads, slitting throats and bellies, puncturing eye sockets, and impaling everyone.

The slaughter was over in less than a minute. Severed limbs and other body parts lay everywhere. Blood and gore spattered the street and the wall of the hospital. When it was over, Altaïr stood in the middle with all exhaustion and fatigue forgotten. Now, he just wanted to kill someone.

He turned back the way he had come. He could hear a preacher shouting in the distance. Altaïr scaled a nearby building, and ran, hopping from rooftop to rooftop towards the voice. He crouched low on a rooftop just above the man preaching to a large crowd. Altaïr dropped from the top to land behind him.

"Curse him!" shouted the preacher. "Curse the Christian king and his army of infidels!" Altaïr extended the hidden blade on his left wrist and plunged it into the back of the preacher's neck.

Altaïr then asked himself if the trouble this would cause was worth it. Had he been able to, he would have decided that no, it was not. He was, however, unable to decide that, as seconds after he asked himself the question, he dropped dead from loss of memory synchronization because of all the innocent people he had killed.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Because someone asked very nicely and I had fun writing the story, I've decided to continue it

_**Author's Note: Because someone asked very nicely and I had fun writing the story, I've decided to continue it. Thanks for the compliments, and be sure to let me know what you think of these next parts!**_

Altaïr awoke instantly after the Animus had finished reloading his memories. He noticed that he was back where he had started. To his right was the crowd of guards harassing a thief, and to his left was the alley way where he had killed the drunk. His great wisdom and assassin's intuition told him that he probably should just let the guards do whatever they like with that particular thief. There were always other lowlifes that he could rescue from justice.

Strolling on, he decided not to get involved in the minor squabbles that occurred every day, and chose to enjoy the day instead. Coming to the gates leading out of the city, he saw a horse standing not tied to anything and with no owner in sight. Altaïr decided to accommodate this horse so he could rest his tired legs and stay mobile.

Nobody called out in protest as he mounted, so he decided that the beast was probably ownerless. He started with a slow walk, taking the time to admire his surroundings. Suddenly, they got boring and he wanted a little more speed. Not being able to get enough, he pushed the horse into a full gallop.

"What is that fool doing?" he heard behind him.

"Who could have done such a thing?" Shmarlove asked his second in command as they led their platoon of guards to the training grounds in Damascus.

"I don't know," answered Artalyak, "but if the missus's gold tooth doesn't turn up soon, we're going to have to start shaking down the civilians 'till I find another one." Just then, a white robed man on a horse sped past their platoon at a breakneck speed, nearly knocking Shmarlove to the ground.

"Did you see that?" he asked Artalyak.

"Yes I did!" Artalyak responded, "I bet he took it! Did you see how fast he was riding that horse? He HAD to have taken the tooth!"

"INFIDEL!" shouted one of the men in their troop. The rest of the men roared in agreement.

"CHAAAAAAARGE!!" Shmarlove shouted, and the chase was on.

Altaïr heard the ring of iron and shouts behind him and swore. He turned to look at how many men chased him, and swore again. That was too many men to fight, so he decided to keep riding, which he did until an arrow struck his horse and they both tumbled to the ground.

Horse dead, Altaïr jumped to his feet to run for it, but saw a similar sized platoon coming at him from the opposite direction, and the canyon's walls prevented him from going anywhere else. He ran to an empty guard tower nearby and began to climb. It was an easy climb for him, and he scaled the one hundred foot tall building in a matter of seconds.

Looking down from the watch post at the top, he saw a sizeable haystack at the bottom on one of the sides. The guards were still quite a ways away, and while they certainly knew where he was, he didn't think they could see him. Looking down at the haystack, he pondered whether or not he could survive a fall into it. For a normal person, the drop would be about enough to kill anyone, but he was an assassin. Far from a normal person.

He took the leap of faith, plummeted the one hundred feet to the ground, and landed lightly in the hay.

"Where could he have gone!?" Artalyak shouted in anger.

"He's disappeared," Shmarlove said. "There's no point in continuing to search. He's long gone by now."

"But what about that haystack!?" Artalyak shouted again. He wasn't about to give up. "He could be hiding in there!" Shmarlove slapped him in the back of the head.

"Pull yourself together, soldier!" he said. "Men don't hide in haystacks. He must have climbed up the canyon wall before we saw him."


End file.
